A couple linked arms as they ascended up the mystic stone elevator in the center of the Tower of the Gray Owl. One was a fairly tall bald man with lean features and a grin that seemed markedly bitter. The one beside him was quite the enchanting woman with gray hair and sharp orange eyes. She wore tall heels—tall enough to be the exact same height as the man beside her. There was a strange air between them. It was not quite the harmonious aura one might see in a couple, yet it could not be likened to a couple who had fought.
“I wonder why the Tower Master calls all Magisters in the Tower to assemble,” Vera said, breaking the silence.
“And you voiced that thought out loud,” Hegazar answered back, staring ahead.
“Well, yes,” Vera said. “This is generally the part where we discuss things, like civilized people who can cooperate, and share a similar lack of understanding regarding the present situation. Unless you know something?”
Hegazar turned his head. “Do you think I’m hiding something from you?”
“The irony hearing that from you, the illusionist. Historically, that is the case,” Vera mused.
Hegazar shook his head and faced forward once again. Two people passed by on another platform, and both Magisters adapted smiles on their faces like nothing was wrong at all. Once they’d gone, both went stony.
“Listen… part of being a happy-go-lucky couple is being nice to each other. I started this conversation rather normally, don’t you think?” Vera questioned. “A simple question, which, though mundane, was perfectly normal. Don’t you think you owe it to me to respond in kind?”
“Why?” Hegazar questioned. “I released you from that vault without a hitch. We split the loot as we had intended to before the star-crossed lover betrayal—as equal partners. If anyone owes anyone anything, it’s—”
“Is that why you did it?” Vera questioned. “To get me in debt? To have me as a partner once more, out of obligation?”
“No, I--!” Hegazar stopped as another set of people passed them by.
The smiles came to their face once more. Once the people had come and gone, Hegazar started laughing.
“You’re laughing, now,” Vera noted.
“I’m sorry,” Hegazar said. “Not about the laughter, mind you. I did answer a bit harshly.” Vera gave him a glance, a little surprised. He carried on, saying, “Do you know what our favorite little kingling did once he’d locked you in that vault? He embraced that girl of his, Anneliese. You should have seen how nauseatingly pleased he was—both of them were. The entire time, they’d been playing us.”
“What, you’d prefer I’d be like her?” she rebuked, still moderately upset.
Hegazar sighed. “No. Just… look at it this way. Together, the two of them completely outwitted you—no, outwitted us,” he corrected begrudgingly. “Two B-rank mages, with no one to trust other than themselves, and a king’s army poking at the door to the Tower. Now, one’s a king with an army to match… and the girl is bound to be a splendid queen, if I’m gauging things right. Two B-rank mages. That’s what they achieved. If we could work together like that… imagine,” he said with an unmistakable, almost primal avarice. “So, I’m sorry. We have to get as close as conjoined twins, you and me. And then we can ascend together.”
“You’re right,” Vera admitted, enticed by the fantasy just as much as Hegazar was. “And I’m… sorry too,” Her face slowly lost some tenseness. “…then, my question?”
“I have no clue why Castro is calling us,” Hegazar answered. Just then, their stone platform reached the floor they’d intended. “But we’re soon to find out, aren’t we… partner?”
And so, the couple advanced onto the floor a little more comfortable linked arm in arm than they had been before. Beyond, a simple room waited them. It was little more than a conference room, but then not much more was needed to accommodate so few people. The two Magisters looked around the room.
About seventeen others were assembled, including the new arrivals—six men, eleven women. To call them only ‘people’ was perhaps a bit demeaning—these were true movers and shakers, Magisters of the Order of the Gray Owl. Some of them could wipe small cities off the map if they really put their mind to it. They had presences to match, each and all. Some of them had presences in a more literal sense—one man’s shadow danced with wisps of smoke, while another woman left crystals of ice wherever she touched.
Of course, so many in such close proximity created a nigh palpable tension. These were people with grudges, alliances, and relationships spanning decades. The tension was higher amidst some, while others seemed relaxed: the political and apolitical Magisters respectively. Hegazar envied the relaxation of the scholars, at times… yet he loved the politics far too much to do as they did, poring over tomes and researching day after day. That tension was excitement. And that tension was here, today.
Eventually, Hegazar rested his eyes on a strange piece in the back of the room. It was a gray-green disc, placed conspicuously close to the head of the conference table. It depicted an eye in the center, strange abominations on its edges like some sort of vortex or portal.
“Hmm. Look at the decoration,” Hegazar whispered.
Vera did as he asked. “It would seem Master Castro has been scammed by some new age artist,” she concluded.
“Hmm, yes it does,” Hegazar nodded. “Or maybe the man has finally gone senile, and that is the thing he intends to show us all.”
Vera laughed under her breath. “Perhaps it’s his apprentice’s work. Let the old man brag—he doesn’t have many other opportunities.”
Hegazar laughed, beginning to see how this idea of theirs might work—instead of making mocking each other, they’d make fun of everybody else around them. His laughter died as he felt the wind stir behind him, and another person entered.
“Seventeen here?” Master Castro questioned, already having moved to stand beside Hegazar and Vera. “Who’s…? Oh. Moriatran is missing. I suppose this is some grand show of his to one-up me by ignoring my summons,” the man said, stepping past. “Well, I’ve called everyone here today for probably the most important thing I am to deal with in my lifetime.”
Hegazar furrowed his brows. Castro had a vigor to his step unlike anything that he’d seen from the Master in decades. Though old, bald, and shrunken as ever, Hegazar found himself wondering how the man could move that fast and confidently at his age.
“Look at him. He’s found a cure for arthritis,” Vera whispered in jest.
The man with dancing shadows watched Castro as he walked. His name was Traugott. He had long hair like ink that accentuated his sharp and grim features, and cast shadows as though light obeyed his whims. His skin was quite dark, too, hinting he might hail from the Burnt Desert. Hegazar could not say as much for certain, though.
“Is this about the war, Master Castro?” Magister Traugott spoke respectfully, having a measured tone and a deep voice. “We’re all well aware of your close ties with Argrave.”
“Could care less about the war,” Castro said disdainfully.
Traugott raised a brow, surprised that the usually even-keeled Castro would speak so tersely.
“I brought all of you here… for this,” Castro declared, setting a bottle with a dropper on its cap atop the table and walking up to the gray-green disc.
Hegazar and Vera shared a bemused and amused glance, then looked back. “Is this a latest art investment of yours, Master Castro?” he dared ask.
Castro’s gaze was enough to chill Hegazar—he’d seldom seen this side of the Tower Master. “It’s an investment,” Castro agreed. “But not art. It’s an investment in truth.” The Tower Master stepped away from the disc, grabbing up the bottle. “I’m going to make this rather simple for all of you…”
Behind Hegazar, the stone platform stopped once again. The couple turned their heads, where the Magister Moriatran stood. He was a man every bit as old as Castro. His hair was present, but its wispy whiteness made him look worse. His teeth were pristine, granted, and his eyes retained a sharp, if bitter, intelligence.
“It seems I’m late,” Moriatran declared loudly.
Castro turned his head back almost disaffectedly. “You are. I don’t care to talk to you right now, Moriatran—sit down, shut up,” he declared, then walked forward to the disc, tipping the bottle over until a drop of black liquid formed on his finger.
Moriatran stepped forth, his face tight at the harsh words. “It seems I’ve finally gotten to your head, at least somewhat, if you would be so wantonly disrespectful.”
Most of the others were captured by Castro’s actions, wondering what it was that had made the old Master so fiery today. He stood up on the tips of his toes, craning up until his finger dabbed the black liquid into the center of the eye.
Tower Master Castro stepped away, moving to the head of the table. “Like I said, today is very simple. All of you are going to learn some uncomfortable truths. You’re going to put aside your petty differences, your grasping avarice, your useless apathy… and then, we’ll use those esteemed heads of yours to figure out what, exactly, we’re going to do about this.”
Behind, Hegazar watched the black liquid seep into the stone. The eye, once flat, gained depth, dimensionality. The black liquid formed veins in the now-alive image until the eye seemed bloodshot, almost drugged. Then… it moved, seeing. Hegazar’s eyes widened—he could see no magic, no sign of anything he was accustomed to. He could not comprehend that simple bit of stone.
The Magisters in the room took note of this, some rising uncomfortably, the others looking to Castro and asking for explanation. Yet the eye… it wandered, looking for something. And eventually, it seized upon Moriatran. Hegazar saw the wizened Magister’s eyes widen, then convulse until they were mirror images of the gray-green and bloodshot stone eye on the disc. When that was done, the image on stone faded, and the Magister collapsed to the ground.
“The first knower of the truth,” Castro declared, stepping around the table. “Perhaps this will shut him up.”
Castro walked up to the Magister. All present looked between each other, somewhat panicked one of their own had been cast to the ground. They looked ready to defend themselves against this seemingly mad Tower Master and his strange artifact.Text © owned by .
Castro kicked Moriatran in the shoulder lightly. “Come on. Get up. You’re a real man, aren’t you?”
Moriatran did eventually come to, and he quickly scurried away from Castro like a spider. “What…!” he trailed off. “What was that?!” he demanded.
“That, my former friend, is the problem at hand,” Castro declared. “Gerechtigkeit.”
The Tower Master reached into his robe’s pockets, and people prepared themselves to react to whatever this new Castro might throw at them. Instead, he pulled out a booklet, and cast it on the ground before Moriatran.
“That vision not enough for you? I’ve got half a dozen leads you can pursue to find the truth of things, each and all every bit as compelling as this.” Castro turned back to the rest of them. “We have a problem of massive proportions, Magisters. I’m here to remind you of the responsibility of those in power… even if I, myself, need to use mine.”
Hegazar looked at Vera and whispered, “Usually, he’s supposed to mediate things, make the situation less tense, right?”
“Usually,” she agreed.
“So!” Castro clapped. “To work.”